


TLJ ficlets

by IrisParry



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, don't try this relationship at home kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: Putting some short training-wheels ficlets on here instead of in tumblr posts, because I know on mobile you can't blacklist tags or anything useful like that to avoid spoilers. I saw the movie for the first time today (14/12/17) and don't remember all the details at this point! Just playing around to get a feel for new canon, ok.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sitharmitage on tumblr asked for a different take on That Scene in the throne room, in which Kylo wakes up faster and they reach some sort of compromise.

Hux stands over Kylo Ren’s crumpled body a second time, with no orders but those his own mercy might issue, or his wrath. Ren is unconscious but he lives, shallow breaths moving through him. Collapsed like this, he is just a man. His body has failed him like anyone’s might, the Force be damned. His flesh is as impermanent; the back of his skull as vulnerable. 

Hux’s blaster is in his hand in a heartbeat, smooth and easy. The throne room’s chaos fades into the background, all of his focus narrowed to his trigger finger, to that mop of dark hair. There is nothing to stop him now, with Leader Snoke in pieces around his useless throne. A throne, as if real power could be marshalled to reside there. 

Ren coughs, and Hux flicks off the safety. The moment is upon him. That it feels like a choice takes Hux briefly off-balance: in as long as it takes Hux to wonder if Ren might cleave to him in Snoke’s stead, like some sad, orphaned loth-kit, Ren has pushed up onto his elbows, turned to face him through strands of filthy hair.

Hux sees both their deaths a hundred times in the long moment that follows, his heart in his throat and Ren’s dark eyes locked on his. 

“What happened here?” Hux demands. He does not, cannot, lower the blaster.

“The girl,” Ren spits, twisting himself to sit, his gaze never leaving Hux’s.  “She killed the Supreme Leader. Fled in his escape pod.” 

Ren is a liar, Hux realises, with a swift and perfect clarity that sends his heart racing. Oh, his petty hatred for  _ the girl _ is real enough, but something is different, the rage is different. There’s a glint in Ren’s eyes - not the horror of a man who’s just had his world knocked sideways, lost his precious master, but the wild adrenaline rush of one who’s gambled and won, on big, big stakes. A man who knows his power, at last. Hux remembers the feeling: invincibility, a galaxy of dazzling possibilities. Freedom.

Hux swallows. He has always thought Ren well-suited to the yoke, inadequate as Leader Snoke’s often was. That thought was deadly treason not ten minutes ago.

Ren smiles, a grim, manic thing that chills Hux. This all serves Hux right for thinking he knew what sort of madman he was dealing with. The lie is thick in the air between them, seconds ticking by without Hux’s assent.

“Perhaps she did,” Hux says slowly. Perhaps she did, because it is for them to shape what happened here. What happens now. 

Ren’s eyes flick to the blaster. “You know, I could have taken that already,” he says, silky-soft, steel beneath. 

Hux knows. He knows it in his bones and in some deep, animal part of his brain. “And yet.” 

Ren gets to his feet, uncoiling his great body, standing tall. The sense of barely contained power rolls off him in waves, would stagger Hux if his every ounce of willpower were not directed toward Ren right now. Ren feels like a ticking time bomb, and cold dread wars with a burning rage in Hux’s chest. He cannot give in to either, the blaster steady in his outstretched hand as Ren approaches.

“If you would quiver and beg,” Ren says, in a low hiss that sends a terrible shiver through Hux. “You would be no good to me.” 

He is close now, his heaving, angry breaths almost pressing his chest to the muzzle of Hux’s blaster. Hux isn’t sure the bolt wouldn’t ricochet off Ren and kill him instead. He searches Ren’s eyes, for the meaning of all this, or perhaps for that lonely loth-kit who stayed his hand. He almost laughs.

Ren just waits, still bristling with fury, so Hux decides for himself that he has passed the test. He lowers the blaster, holsters it casually as if this has all been a false alarm. “The Resistance are evacuating. We don’t have much time.”

Kylo’s expression darkens, a frankly remarkable feat. He strides across the throne room to the exit, Hux catching him up as he steps over the fallen guards. “The girl will go to them. Assemble all personnel.”

“Indeed,” Hux says, careful to give the appearance of agreement, of deference, mentally dividing up his forces according to the most efficient -

Hux brings up short, frozen, as if the air itself resists him, presses him on all sides. Ren. Did he see Hux’s attempt at placating him? He is indeed stronger than Leader Snoke if so. 

“Say it,” Ren tells him, softly but firmly, thoroughly dangerously. He is behind Hux now, and it goes against all Hux’s instincts to let this creature out of his sight but he cannot turn. Ren’s breath is close at his ear all of a sudden, his bulk at Hux’s back. He brings the sour smell of blood and sweat, and that singular reek of the saber blade, sharp, metallic and smoky. Hux gasps as phantom fingers close loose around his neck, a threat and a promise. “Say it, General.”

“Yes,” Hux croaks, fear closing his throat without a need for Ren to squeeze. He swallows, composes himself. He knows what Ren wants. “Yes, Supreme Leader.” 

“Good,” Ren says, so quiet Hux feels it more than he hears it. The rush of pride he feels at even this twisted praise, more instruction than approval, shames him, brings back the anger and frustration that at least he knows what to do with. Twice now he has held this man’s life in his hands. He will do so again, because Ren cannot help but crash up against his own limits. Hux will be there, next time, another time: perhaps when Ren is no longer useful to him, and then he will not hesitate. 

Ren does not release Hux until he’s already swept past him and out of the throne room, barking orders at passing troopers who skid to halt and obey. Hux follows him. It’s all he can do, for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt for this one, it's just for me. It's super-dramatic and I'm not even sorry. Hux is a mess and so am I. 
> 
> (Reminder that this isn't a multi-chapter fic, it's a series of ficlets as they occur to me. They don't follow on from one another.)

After Crait, his rage was a hideous thing.

The red mineral stained his hands where he’d beat his fists against the ground, a mockery after his failure to shed Skywalker’s blood. His quarters back aboard ship bore the brunt, crashing and screaming coming from within for what felt like an age, while Hux watched the corridor’s monitor, while troopers and officers alike scurried by as quickly as appearances would allow. 

Whispers filled the ship, growing louder after the ground crew returned, until Hux made his address.

Hux looks forward to it, usually. To his loyal crew hanging on his every word. To the clarity of thought that comes from the precise turns of phrase he chooses, to the renewed focus and vigour. This was the first time he spoke to his crew with doubt and fear gnawing at his heart, so conscious of the things he did not say; the things he was not yet certain of himself. 

The crew do not suspect any of this conflict in him, of course. A semblance of calm has been restored to the halls, the speech itself reassurance that normality continues, that they can rely on General Hux, as ever. Gossip can never be entirely suppressed but Hux has shaped it, gotten ahead of it, saying just enough to hint at some secret heroics on Crait that the crew can embellish for themselves, everything part of some larger plan of mightier minds that they cannot be privy to. It will be far more effective than a stark proclamation of the same.  

Hux ought to sleep, but it was out of the question even before his comm alert went off, on the personal channel. After, it is an impossibility. His pacing falters, and all other questions fade in the face of this one: who has issued this summons? Ren, the sulking child who grated on his last nerve, the impulsive fool, the liability? Kylo, intense and charming, who shared his bed? Kylo might yet remember the plans they made together, the things they promised one another in the dark. 

He does not want to see the Supreme Leader. He does not want to look into his eyes and know for certain that Kylo was a terrible lie. 

Pain is nothing. The humiliation, Hux can hardly bear. It fuelled him through Crait, twisted into a bitter anger he could easily redirect with the enemy before him. Now, with the adrenaline wearing off, it feels like poison in his veins, coursing remorselessly through the whole of him. Hux’s worst instincts had him hesitate in the throne room, he sees that now. The  _ Supreme Leader _ has seen it all along, has used him, laughed at him. When the mask was well and truly off he thought nothing of seizing Hux’s throat, demanding his submission, striking him like a dog.

Perhaps the shows of violence were all Hux could ever trust. They should have been more instructive. Contrary to Hux’s first impression the man did have control, directed his rages very specifically. A demonstration implies an audience, invites a witness to such a capacity for destruction. 

There is one observation that still feels more or less reliable: that Kylo’s fits arise from frustration at his own failures, and for a moment, standing in his quarters with his nails biting into his palms and the comm alert light still flashing, Hux wishes he could find catharsis in the same thing. He wishes it were as easy.   

It will do him good to carry this fresh anger with him, though, to keep it safe. He must not forget it. And, he really must go. The Supreme Leader doesn't like to wait.   
  


*

 

The door opens of its own accord when Hux arrives, and three fretting droids sweep out of it before it slides closed again, jostling Hux’s legs. They have made some efforts at cleaning the place up, but plainly someone grew tired of their anxious beeps before they were done. The husk of a fourth smoulders gently beneath a dent in the hall panelling. 

“Hux.” The voice from the bedroom gives nothing away. Hux crunches through broken glass and splintered plastic toward it. 

Kylo Ren sits on the edge of the bed. He is rubbing his thumbs across his hands over and over: his knuckles look a raw, delicate pink, and bacta strips litter the floor. He must have injured himself in his tantrums, barely allowed his hands to heal. He is shirtless, one of his more transparent manipulation tactics.  

It takes a great deal of willpower not to flinch when he looks up. Hux stands with hands folded behind his back, not at attention but certainly very far from at ease. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Kylo says, small and grateful,  _ relieved _ , and Hux wants to slap him. 

“And disobey a direct order?” Hux sneers, can’t help himself now Kylo is here before him, so presumptuous and selfish. 

Kylo frowns, pouts as if Hux has wounded him. “It doesn’t have to be that way.” He stands, and Hux’s heart picks up. “Not with you and me.” He comes closer and then Hux does flinch, turns his face away, takes the smallest step back.

“It is that way,” he grits out, his fists clenched at his sides. He feels petulant, and he hates it. He hopes Kylo hates it. “You wanted it that way.”

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says, soft and easy, light, like it’s nothing. Like it fixes everything, like it means  _ anything _ , and Hux draws his blaster because death would be preferable to ever hearing that word again. He is finished. They’re finished.

“Who the  _ hell _ ,” he spits, “do you think you’re talking to?”

Kylo raises both his hands, slowly, retreats til his calves hit the bed. He doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised. 

“My General,” he says, his big, dark eyes shining, and Hux can practically see the calculation in them. He feels his face contort, his teeth grind. “My General, my lo- “

Hux thumbs back the safety. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“That night. On the Finalizer.  _ You _ said it.” 

“ _ Don’t. _ ”

“You love me.”

It’s accusatory, triumphant, and the worst part is that it’s true. Hux barks out a hollow laugh. “And what difference did it make?”

“It made plenty in the throne room. The last time you thought you wanted to shoot me.”

Kylo’s words are like his wrecked consoles, inviting Hux to imagine what else he is capable of. Hux can only laugh again. He hates the knowledge he has given freely more than any Kylo might have taken.

"You wanted it for yourself, for a moment," Kylo says, gentler now. "I don't blame you."

They stand there, Kylo with his hands up, Hux with his finger on the trigger. A ghastly pantomime, like all of this has been. 

“I still need my General,” Kylo says softly. “My Grand Marshal.”

Hux fires. Kylo smiles. 

The bolt hangs in the air inches from Kylo’s heart, and the blaster drops from Hux’s hand.

“And,” Kylo hisses. “I need a vicious little cur.”

Hux is distantly aware of the blaster bolt crashing away, the smell of hot metal, before Kylo fills up his senses. They should never have tried to talk tonight. This has always been the best way they understand each other. Kylo kisses him hungrily, pulling him in at the hips. Putting words to it, love and promises, that’s what ruined Hux. He bites Kylo’s lip, hard, fear and lust overwhelming him til he can’t tell one from the other, and promises himself Kylo won’t escape unscathed either.

  
*

 

Kylo falls asleep almost immediately when he's spent, because not everything about them has changed. Before, Hux would feel proud of wearing him out - athletic as he is, fool that Hux is - but now it’s an unwelcome reminder that Kylo has no fear of him. It’s not a sign of trust in Hux as much as in his own strength. 

Kylo doesn’t stir as Hux dresses. There are a number of things Hux can’t yet bring himself to do, and one of them is abandoning himself to unconsciousness next to this man. He loves Kylo, there is little point in denying it. He took comfort in his body, in the desire of this powerful, terrible creature: found some clarity in the hour in his bed, in the end, so much like the wordless destruction Kylo himself favours when failure weighs heavily on him. 

Everything comes with a price, of course. Hux fastens his tunic, straightens his collar at his throat. He will never get the things he wants from Kylo, not really. He has always known this. A twitch of his wrist, and the blade slides soundless from his sleeve. 

Kylo does not deserve a blaster bolt, a cowardly shot to the back of the head. Only the blade will do, the same intimate betrayal of the choke hold, up close and personal. Hux watches Kylo scowl and kick in his sleep, at war even in his dreams. He will bring the whole Order down, if Hux lets him. 

There are other ways to stop that, though, other weapons at Hux’s disposal. They have kept him alive through the past two days, after all: he must have the mastery of them, and quickly. 

Hux palms the knife away, feels the mechanism lock it back in place. He is well aware it is also sentiment that stays his hand, but he feels he understands his weakness now. In time, he will stamp it out. 

Not tonight. Likely not the next night, either, or the one after that. For now, Hux is a faithful dog. He must hone all his best tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr with the same username.
> 
> "The Supreme Leader doesn't like to wait" is a riff on an iconic line from Delilah S Dawson's amazing Phasma novel, which you absolutely need to read if you haven't already. I couldn't resist adding that after glorious enabler huxxsux gave me the idea <3 <3 <3


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